The Boy in the Corner Booth
by Karen1121
Summary: An experiment in writing romance. Two strangers feel a connection; will they be able to meet after all?


She walked through the door, its chimes twinkling kindly. She didn't look up when her coworkers greeted her disinterestedly; they hadn't had anything nice to say to her in weeks.

"Just two more weeks," she muttered to herself. She set her purse aside and rubbed her eyes tiredly.

The small space was already starting to fill up as she clocked in. Mingled conversations simmered throughout the building, giving it a relaxed mood. But it wouldn't last long. Friday night meant live music, and with it came surges of patrons and miles of orders to fill out.

"Anyone good playing?" she asked the girl working the register beside her.

"Someone new," came the reply. The girl paused, twisting a strand of hair from her pigtail between her fingers in thought. "I think it started with F? F… something."

"Eh, that's okay." She wasn't very curious, anyway.

After taking a few small orders, she glanced up again. Customers were beginning to file in, and a small line snaked its way down the center aisle.

As she scanned the room, something caught her eye—or, rather, the lack of something. The booth all the way in the back, next to the window that faced the music store, was empty. There was nothing special about that booth, but she found herself strangely disappointed not to see him sitting in it.

He came every week, only on Friday nights. He would slip into the back and squeeze himself into the corner like he was hiding from someone. He never spoke. Long ago, he must have told one of the waitresses that he wanted a plain burger and cherry Coke made with syrup because that's what she had been told to bring him when she started work, but she had never heard him speak herself. He would simply come, listen to the musician of the week play, and leave a wad of cash on the table with a small tip.

The café received many regular patrons; he was no exception. She was surprised she even noticed he was gone. But there was something intriguing about him, especially the strange scars that laced his arm and cheek. She had always meant to ask him, but he never seemed in the mood to talk with a stranger.

"Gumi?" a voice asked indistinctly. "Hey, Gumi!" The girl beside her snapped her fingers. "Daydream on your own time! We have customers."

Gumi blinked, startled. "Right, right, sorry!" She waved ahead the next person in line, silently berating herself. Amidst the clamor of clanging dishes and bustling customers, the mysterious boy was quickly forgotten.

* * *

It's only a small gig, he told himself. The more he silently rehearsed the words, however, the less his reflection staring back from the restroom mirror looked convinced. Sure, it was a small gig. But it was his first. And she would be there.

She always worked Friday nights. He figured she must be part of the closing crew, since she never left before he did. She had been so tired lately, so frustrated about something. She didn't stop to chat with the customers as much. He wanted to ask, but Friday dinner rush never felt like the right time.

Regardless of her mood, she always remembered his order without him having to say a word— much to his relief, since he could never manage to produce more than faint choking noises around her. She knew everyone's orders who had come even only once before. There was something in her quick, polite smiles that, though often forced for the customers, still felt genuine and warm.

He took a deep breath. Staring his reflection down, he tipped his hat in a slightly crooked fashion and sauntered out of the restroom.

On his way to the small space designated for guest musicians, he nearly collided with the manager. "Fukase!" the manager exclaimed. "I've been looking for you! You're on in ten minutes, okay?"

Fukase gave a quick thumbs-up and returned to his post. Hands shaking slightly, he tenderly lifted his guitar out of its case and swung the strap over his head. Its smooth, worn finish felt so familiar and comforting. He touched the strings lightly, and they responded with a rich, eager hum.

He sat on the stool provided for him and waited for a few minutes, making last-minute tuning adjustments and watching the customers take their seats. The conversations swelled together in a friendly buzz, much like the buzz of nervous energy running through his head. She and the other registrar were drowning in orders, but they were efficient. Nothing they couldn't handle.

* * *

Gumi sighed, wiping her brow tiredly after serving a rather demanding mother of five. She peeked at her watch—only an hour had passed. It was gonna be a long night.

A tinge of jealousy struck her as she watched the girl beside her direct the streams of customers with ease. She shook her head and called over the next patron. Just two more weeks.

While she was in the middle of punching in the next order, Gumi's ears perked up to a voice speaking into the microphone. She couldn't see the musician from behind the counter, but he had a soft, slightly raspy voice. He sounded nervous as he introduced himself. She listened for a few seconds before completing the rest of the order; the café's live music had never been of great interest to her. The musician's voice quickly blended into the cacophony of voices throughout the restaurant.

Gradually, the line began to thin as the restaurant filled up. Gumi sighed with relief, watching the customers file in more slowly.

As she glanced up from time to time, she noticed that many people's faces were turned to the left, obviously fixed on the singer she couldn't see. Though she couldn't hear the music very clearly, it must have been rather impressive. The patrons were enthusiastic in their applause after every song. Always good for business, she thought to herself. Happy customers meant better tips.

A splintering crash jabbed her ears, and she looked up suddenly. Some careless child had upended a table across the room, sending plates flying. Even the music stopped for a second, but the musician apparently recovered himself and the room returned to its former carefree atmosphere in a moment.

Gumi sighed. "You got this?" she asked her coworker, gesturing to the registers. The girl nodded, and Gumi trudged over to the supply closet for a mop and tray.

Apologies spewed from the child's mother's lips as Gumi arrived, but she waved them aside. "No, no, it's no trouble!" she assured her, swiftly sweeping the evidence onto the tray.

"What did you order? I can see if we can get a replacement for it," Gumi offered kindly. The woman sputtered more thanks, wiping stray crumbs from her child's mouth. "Just let me grab my notebook," Gumi began, but her words trailed off as she looked up.

It was him. The boy from the corner booth. He gazed out at the crowd as he sang, and their eyes met for a brief second. Her shoulders shook as though a bolt of lightning had pulsed through them.

He looked away, but his face was flushed red. As she, too, turned away, she realized she was actually listening to his song. His voice was strong and full of energy, but not so much that it was overpowering. It had an undertone of sweetness. He seemed so vulnerable in the way he sang, yet so carefree. So unlike the quiet boy hiding in the corner booth. Somehow, she felt, he had wanted her to hear this song.

Mentally giving herself a quick slap, she turned back to the woman at the table. "I'll be right back," she told her and ran to the counter, nearly tripping over her mop. She deposited the tray of dishes and mop and grabbed her notebook before returning to the table, trying to keep her head on track.

After jotting down the woman's order, Gumi glanced back up at the register. The line was short, and her coworker was still effortlessly directing the flow of customers. Gumi wouldn't be missed for a few moments, right?

She waited until she heard more clapping, knowing he had just finished his latest song. She gathered herself and approached the east end of the café, where the small, makeshift stage was located.

He was nowhere to be found. His guitar was still on its stand, and she guessed he must have decided to take a short break. Gumi sighed—perfect timing.

She looked around, but with no luck. Her eyes fell on her coworker who was waving to get her attention. Gumi returned to the register, hating her cheeks for feeling so hot.

"What are you doing?" her coworker hissed. "You're not on break!"

"I know—just gimme a second—" she began, but the girl cut her off.

"C'mon, we have customers."

She nodded quietly and returned to her station. Two more weeks, she reminded herself, shooting her coworker a dirty look when she knew she wouldn't be seen.

When the woman's order came out, though, Gumi didn't hesitate to offer to bring it to the table. Stealing a quick moment, she raced to the stage after delivering the order. The boy was still missing, but his tip jar sat patiently on the end of the stage by his guitar.

Gumi glanced back at the register. Surely he would be gone by the time her shift ended; the musicians always finished before she got a break. A small, desperate thought struck her.

Hastily, she scribbled down a quick message on her notebook. Tearing it out, she placed it discreetly in the tip jar and returned to her station. She wished she could see his face when he read it, but she could only guess what he might think.

"What are you grinning about?" her coworker asked when she got back.

She quickly covered her face, her cheeks still burning. "Nothing."

* * *

He took a deep breath, staring down the glass doors. His wide-eyed reflection gazed back at him, but beyond it the café's interior stretched out before him. It was brightly lit but much emptier than the night before. Only a few patrons seemed to have lingered for late-night coffee.

Though his hands shook slightly, he gave the small scrap of paper a quick squeeze before shoving it in his pocket. His feet wavered, edging ever so closely to turning back. But he shook his head, giving his reflection a determined nod. He braced himself and opened the door.

An inviting twinkle of chimes greeted him as the door swung smoothly. The girl was attending the same register, as though she hadn't moved from the spot since he left. She looked up at the sound of his entrance, and her warm, tired eyes met his.

She smiled.


End file.
